


No One Told Me About Her

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 084 Day, Triggers in Notes to avoid spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:13:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye makes an exchange that's more like a sacrifice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One Told Me About Her

**Author's Note:**

> Happy [084 Day](http://marysuepoots.tumblr.com/post/93270882654/hello-friends-do-you-love-skye-do-you-love-the), friends! In celebration of Skye's unknown origins, I've written a fic based on [this](http://oberlyn.tumblr.com/post/89631249237/the-questions-asked-in-sarah-mannings) heartbreaking scene from Orphan Black (spoilers for season 2 in that link, btw!) And like Sarah's confessions, these are some pretty dark moments that Skye is being forced to confess to. Why? Well, that's a spoiler. The triggers are a fairly non-consensual medical examination, blood, needles, mentions of a miscarriage, mentions of drug abuse, and mentions sexual activity at a young age.

It starts with a word.  “Strip,” the doctor says.  

Skye isn’t sure if he’s even a real doctor.  At the very least, he’s working for her father.  That should call his practices into question.  

She takes off her clothes.  A flannel, a tank top, a pair of boots and white socks and dark blue jeans.  She hadn’t put much thought into it.  Something comfortable, something she could fit weapons in.  They’d taken her weapons as soon as she’d surrendered.  One gun, two spare cartridges, a butterfly knife.

She stands in her mismatched underwear, arm stretched across her chest.  Right hand holding left bicep. 

“Take off your undergarments,” the doctor tells her.

Skye looks at him.  He’s got a sharp face, which becomes sharper in the harsh overheard lights.

“Do I get a robe?” she asks.

He clicks his fingers.  Someone steps out of the shadows, holding a hospital gown.  She would laugh at the scene, at the silliness of it, but now is not a time for laughing.  And she doesn’t even find it that funny.  She should, but she can’t.

“Thanks,” she mumbles.  The gown is light green with some indistinguishable print, and it ties at the left side, over her ribs.  Skye unhooks her bra through the back of the dress, then slides the straps off her shoulders.  She pulls off bra through an arm hole.  It falls with the rest of her clothes.

The doctor doesn’t seem to blink.  “All of your undergarments,” he says.

She keeps her eyes on his face, to show that she is unafraid.  She reaches under the gown, and slides her underwear down her legs.  She holds them, bunched and bright green, in her left hand.

“You want to study them?” she asks.  “See if I’m ovulating or menstruating or whatever?”

“We don’t need your underwear for that,” the doctor says.  She looks away from him.  Just to put her underwear down.  Another figure, another worker or nurse or henchman, comes to take her clothes.  “They’ll be returned to you after the examination.”

“Great,” Skye watching the figure fade back into the shadows, carrying her clothes.

  
  


She is lead down a hallway, plain-looking and poorly-lit.  “We couldn’t just use the other room?” she asks.

“That room is not for examinations,” the doctor responds.

“What’s it for, then?” she asks.

“Preparation.”

Doors.  Doors.  Door after door.  No windows.  No way to look into the rooms.

She’s trying to be brave.  She needs to be brave.  And she is brave, she is, but she’s so scared.  Way down, deep in the pit of her stomach.  No matter how many times she tells herself she had no choice.  The fear lingers.  She had no choice.  She is brave.  She had no choice.

Their destination.  An unmarked door, seemingly the same as every other door they’ve passed.  The doctor scans his key card, and pushes open the door.

  
  


It kind of looks like the doctor’s room in a clinic, but whiter.  She winces, a little.  So bright.  Too bright.  It’s big too, big enough to fit the standard doctor’s room fare, as well as two nurses (one male, one female), Raina, and-

“Oh,” Skye says, looking at the doctor, and not her father.  “He’s here.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” the doctor asks.

Skye shifts her weight to the balls of her feet.  “I’m over eighteen,” she says.  “I don’t need a parent to take me to the doctor anymore.”

Raina laughs, light like drizzle or wind chimes.  Skye’s father says nothing.  As always.

“I see,” the doctor says.  He looks to her father.  Her father looks back.  The doctor nods.  “I see,” he repeats.  “Sit down,” he tells Skye, and gestures towards the table.

So.  Everyone’s staying.  Skye swallows her protests.  There are terms to these sorts of things.  Conditions to the bargain.  If they think she’s pressing her luck, if they think she’s going to withhold on her end, then they’ll withhold on their end.  And that can’t happen.

She sits.

  
  


The nurses descend on her like vultures.  One grabs her arm, the other swabs the crook of her elbow.  Female nurse wraps elastic around her bicep.

“Make a fist,” she says.  She has a thick accent, but from where, Skye has no idea.

She curls her fingers into a fist and squeezes, hard enough so that her nails make dents in her palm.

“Count to three,” male nurse says.  He takes the needle out.

“One,” Skye says, eyeing the needle.

“It will be less scary if you look away,” female nurse says.

“I want to see it happen,” Skye says.  She grits her teeth.  The needle glints in the light.  She hasn’t had her blood drawn many times.  “Two,” Skye says.  “Three.”

The needle slides under her skin.  She sucks in a breath.  It pinches, but she will live.

“You can unclench your fist, now,” female nurse says.  She takes the band off Skye’s arm.  Skye feels better with her hand in a fist, right now.  So she keeps it that way.

Skye watches her blood fill a tube and wills herself to look away.  She catches Raina’s eye.

“Enjoying this?” Skye asks.

Raina idly fluffs her hair.  “Of course,” Raina says.  “It’s always a pleasure to see a family reunited.”

Skye could make a threat.  She could.  

The female nurse switches to a new vial, and Skye wants to yank her arm away.  “Hey!  How much blood do you n-UH!” Male nurse has put a depressor on her tongue and is shining a light down her throat.  He pulls out and she tries not to spit.

The needle is withdrawn.  Her arms beads with blood, but they do not offer her a bandage.

“What’s your blood type?” the doctor asks.

“Is this the question and answer portion?” Skye says.

“Yes,” the doctor replies.

There are six people in this room.  That’s five too many, as far as Skye is concerned.

“Is there a problem?” the doctor asks.

Skye looks down to the crook of her elbow, at the little gush of blood.  Her blood. The spot’s going to bruise.  It’s already begun.

“No,” she says.  “Ask away.”

  
  


“What’s your name?” the doctor asks.

“Skye,” she replies.

“Birth name?” he asks.

Skye looks over to her father.  “Dunno,” she says.  “Ask him.”

Male nurse returns with a cotton swab, and attacks the inside of her cheek.  She tries to flinch away, but he holds her by the arm.

She doesn’t know why it makes her feel so violated.  This is check-up stuff.  This is nothing Simmons hasn’t done.  This doctor is not Simmons.  These nurses are not Fitz.  She has no one to back her up.  And they keep sticking her with things.

“How old are you?” the doctor asks.

“Twenty-five,” Skye responds.

“Date of birth?”

“Don’t know,” Skye says.  She waits for a reply.  Maybe from her father.

“Do you know the year of your birth?” the doctor asks.

“1989,” Skye says.  “Before April 23rd.”

He marks it down.  “When was your last physical?”

“Through SHIELD or otherwise?”

“Otherwise.”

“A while ago,” Skye says.  “I don’t know.”

“Are you sexually active?” the doctor asks.

Skye clenches her thighs.  As a precaution.  In case they want to stick another cotton swab in her.  “Yes.”

The nurses return.  Female nurse pulls back Skye’s hair, and male nurse sticks a scope in her right ear.

“When is the last time you had sex?”

Male nurse moves to Skye’s left side.  It pinches when he digs the scope in, like he’s trying to see into her brain, but she manages to ignore it. 

“When is the last time you had sex?” 

  
  


Her father is right there.  She hasn’t known him long enough for it to really be weird in the familial sense, but it’s weird just the same.  And Raina.  She doesn’t want to have to explain that.

“About a year ago,” Skye says.

“What was his or her name?” the doctor says.

Skye tries not to look down, or swallow too hard, or suck in a breath too quickly.  Nothing to implicate herself.  “Does it matter?” Skye asks.

“Answer the question.”

They can rot in hell.  She will not give up Miles.  Not today.  Not when she’s given up everything else. “I don’t remember,” Skye says. “I was drunk.”

Marked.  “Have you ever been pregnant?”

She pauses.  The nurses are taking her blood pressure, and it’s squeezing her bicep and she tries to focus on that.  “No,” she says.

“You hesitated,” Raina says.

Skye could strangle her.  Maybe she’ll get the chance later.  “So?”

“That’s the first time you’ve hesitated,” Raina points out.  “Ask her again.”

The doctor seems as frustrated at being interrupted as Skye is.  He looks to her father, and sighs.  “Have you ever been pregnant?”

“I miscarried one month in,” Skye spits.  “Happy?”

“How could we be happy about something like that?” Raina asks.

“I hate you,” Skye tells her.  It’s a childish response, but the best one she can think of under so much stress and rage.

“Who was the father of your child?” the doctor asks.  Just like that.

Skye will not cry.  She will not cry.  “Fuck you.”

“Who was the father of your child?”

She looks to her own father, in blood only.  What kind of father would do this? Does he enjoy this?  Does he like watching her suffer?

“Who was-”

Skye’s father raises his hand.  She locks eyes with him, and catches the slightest shake of his head.  She breathes out.  The doctor moves on.

“Do you use birth control?”

She almost tucks her hair behind her ear, before remembering that fidgeting is a sign of weakness.  Ward told her that, once, but it had been something she’d known for years and years.

“I’ve been on and off the pill,” Skye says.

“Since when?”

“Since I was thirteen.”

She looks at Raina.  She doesn’t know why.  Maybe she’s waiting for judgement.  Her father is incapable of making facial expressions.  Raina looks back at her, without amusement or surprise or any of the emotions that Skye is used to, when she discusses  these sorts of things.  Thirteen year olds having sex is supposed to elicit something.  But it doesn’t.

“Do you smoke?”

“I used to.”

“When did you quit?”

“Five years ago.” Miles made her do it.  Miles made her quit everything but the birth control.

“Are you now or have you ever used intravenous drugs?”

She doesn’t look at her arms.  She knows what her skin looks like.  “Yes.”

That gets one eyebrow lift from Raina.

“What?” Skye asks, before the doctor can ask another question.  “You’re not surprised that I’m a slut, but the drug thing caught you off-guard?”

Raina curls the corners of her mouth upwards, just slightly.  “If that’s how you want to look at it,” Raina says.

Skye curls and uncurls her toes.  “You’re as much as of a freak as I am.  You should be up here, too.”

Raina is unfazed.  “You’re not a freak.  You’re a miracle.  A gift.”

“Then why this?” Skye hisses.  “Why is this necessary?”

Raina doesn’t respond.

“What kind of intravenous drugs have you used?” the doctor asks.  She doesn’t get the pretense.  The need to act like this is just some check-up.  The need to pretend there’s no tension in the room.

“I don’t know,” Skye says.

“How many times?” he asks.

“I don’t remember.”

“Have ever had an STI?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Why?” Skye says.  She glares.  “Because I’ve been having sex since I was thirteen?  I’ve never had an STI.  Next question.”

“Are you HIV positive?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental illness?”

“No.”

“Have you ever had surgery?”

Skye thinks she feels her scars throb, under her hospital gown.  “Once.”

“Why?”

“To remove two bullets from my stomach.”

“And that’s when you received the GH-325, correct?”

Skye looks at her knees.  “And there it is,” she says, bitterly, mostly to herself.  “Yes.  That’s when I received the alien Jesus juice.”

She thinks she hears someone snicker.  It’s too deep to be Raina’s, and the doctor and nurses don’t have emotions, so-

She looks at her father, and cocks one eyebrow.  He’s impassive.  She shouldn’t expect anything else.  She’s sick of this.  She’s sick of him.  “Can I see Coulson now?”

  
  


Silence.  Five servings of it, just for her.  She frowns.

“I’ll bust out of here right now,” she warns.  “I will.”

“You can’t,” Raina says, almost smug, almost amused.  “You’re not Grant Ward.”

His name hurts.  Skye doesn’t want to think about why.

“Just take me to Coulson,” Skye says.  “Or you’ll get Grant Ward.”  It’s the stupidest threat probably ever, though not entirely untrue.

Raina’s smile is no teeth, but all bite.  To anyone else, it would be intimidating.  “Of course,” she says, in her silky little voice.  “Administer the sedative, won’t you?”

Stupid.  Stupid.  Skye fell right into it.  She should’ve been more aware.  Watching the door.  Watching the nurses.  But there are hands on her arms and a needle in her neck before she can even yell a proper threat.  She manages to whine out “Fuck,” as she goes boneless.

She’s got two guards by her side.  They half-drag, half-carry her down the hallway, following in Raina’s dainty footsteps.  Skye is faintly aware that her father and the doctor stayed in the check-up room, and that should make her nervous but it’s hard to think.  Her toes wiggle against the floor.  It’s very smooth.  Super smooth.  And they keep carrying her down the hall.  She’s not sure if it’s in the direction from which she came or the opposite direction or up or down, really.  The lights are making colors and she’s sleepy.

Hey, didn’t they take her blood?

That’s not cool.

Hissing doors and more lights in different colors, and a voice calling her name and a room full of people.  Wait.  Wait.  Coulson.  And Ward.  And more guards.

“Skye?”  Who’s calling her?  Why can’t they let her go to sleep?  Are they going to poke her again?

“Skye!” Coulson.  Coulson is calling her name.  His hands are on her face and she’s looking at him, she knows she is.  But he keeps going out of focus.  “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything irreversible,” Raina says.  “This is just insurance.  She’ll be given the antidote as soon as you’re out of the compound.”

Wait.  Wait.  Antidote?  That shouldn’t-That doesn’t-She said sedative!

“You poisoned her?” Ward.  Why is he even here?  What does he want?  Why is he looking at Skye like…like…

“Ward?” she asks.  She thinks she does.  It sounds like his name to her, but maybe not to him.

“You can’t do this,” Coulson says.  “We won’t let you.”

Skye knows, she knows, that Raina is grinning.  “Let’s be perfectly clear,” Raina says.  God, her voice is so sweet.  It’s disgusting.  It’s sickening.  Skye is going to be sick.  She heaves.  “First, the longer you delay, the sicker Skye is going to get.  Second, she’s the one who made the deal to begin with.  You’re just currency.”

“We know where your compound is, now,” Ward says.  Brave Ward.  Stupid Ward.  Why is he here?  “We’ll come back for her.”

Laughter.  Skye hates the sound of it.  She’s going to throw up.  She’s going to. 

“We could move the second you’re gone,” Raina says.  “Or we could just stay.  You don’t have the resources to get in here without an invitation and by the time you figured it out-” she pauses.  Skye takes this as her cue to vomit.  Coulson moves but only because Ward pulls him away.  His hands are still reaching for Skye, for her cheeks or her hair.  Something to soothe, to comfort.  “Skye might not be the same girl.”

 

That should scare Skye.  It should.  She should be screaming and kicking her legs but it’s so hard and she feels so heavy and sick.

“What about me?” Ward asks, suddenly.  “You can have me.  I’m bigger than she is.  Better to experiment on.”

“She’s not a lab rat,” Raina says.  “She’s our guest.  And we can be very accommodating to the guests we like.”

And just like that, they’re dragging Skye back out.  She wiggles around, tries to fight, she does, but they poisoned her.  They cheated.  They cheated!

“You won’t miss them,” Raina says, if only to drown out the sound of Ward screaming Skye’s name as the door slams shut.  “We’ll take good care of you.”

She wants to yell.  She wants to ask for her clothes back.  She wants to tell Coulson she’s sorry.  And maybe Ward, too.

“Hnn?” Skye says.  Her head is slumping forward.

“Just fall asleep,” Raina says, petting Skye’s hair.  “It’ll be better when you wake up.”

She can’t sleep she can’t sleep they know about the baby they know about the drugs-

“Go to sleep,” Raina says.  And Skye does.


End file.
